


Are you my crippling fear of heights? 'Cause you make my heart race and my knees weak

by orphan_account



Category: Stray Kids
Genre: Carnival AU, Fluff and Humor, Hyunjin is just mentioned briefly sorry bub :(, Idk it's fluffy minsung what else is there to say, Jisung: confident gay, Jk it’s more tooth rotting fluff than anything, Kissing—but no smut, Love at First Sight, M/M, Meet-Cute, Strangers to Lovers, This is based on lino’s Irl fear of heights!, University/College AU, as an art history minor myself i had to give that to chan so he can fulfill his art heux destiny, honestly this is crack too, how the tables have tabled, i tried to give them unique majors/minors so its not the typical dance/music prod/vocal trope lmao, im bad at descriptions but this is cute i promise, it's pure fluff kids, minho: panicked gay, side- ChangLix, side- WooChan, there's some cursing bc minho just be like that, you’ve heard of porn with plot? Well guess what this is crack with plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-08-11 16:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20156737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Minho is terrified of heights. Always has been, and he assumed he always will be. So to say the unstable, rust laden Ferris wheel at the local carnival is his deepest nightmare incarnate would be a slight understatement.However, he might have to change his tune after a certain gorgeous boy implores Minho to accompany him on the rickety ride. Who knew that a mysterious, squirrel-like stranger held the cure to Minho’s most recessed, primal fear.Minho for one, certainly didn’t.





	Are you my crippling fear of heights? 'Cause you make my heart race and my knees weak

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while i was #feelingbad and it really helped distract me and i actually ended up liking it quite a bit! I hope u guys do too!
> 
> also it's my first solo minsung fic and i can only assume i've been Blessed bc we got the most adorable minsung selfie last night (with BLUE HAIR MINHO I AM LEGALLY OBLIGATED TO LOSE MY MIND)

The sky is painted a beautiful shade of lavender when Minho strolled through the grand arch signifying the entrance to the carnival. His small group of best friends are trailing behind him, their eyes already darting about the overstimulating spread of sugary treats and neon signs. 

“What should we do first?” Asked Bang Chan, a blinding grin stretching his lips that coaxed out his adorable dimples to greet Minho. The older Austrailian export is the unspoken leader of their little group, despite the poor guy barely even being able to take care of  _ himself,  _ let alone four other grown boys. 

Chan is a music theory major (with a focus on Classical), with a minor in art history; he spends more time slaving over his computer and hundred pound textbooks than getting much needed shut eye. Chan has a bit of an old soul, so it’s no surprise he has such a fondness for history. Just don’t try to argue with him that Renaissance art is superior to that of the Baroque era, because that is one fight you will  _ lose _ . 

He has a virtual IV drip of triple shot espresso regardless of the hour, and Minho can't imagine his caffeine addiction is terribly healthy. But ignoring the large dark circles and nigh painfully apparent bags under his eyes, Chan is almost startlingly positive and optimistic. Chan can stumble out of his small dorm looking about .03 seconds from keeling over, but will still immediately invite you in and put whatever imminent deadline creeping closer on the clock on hold, in order to take proper care of  _ you. _

Chan always puts _ “you”  _ before _ “me”  _ and sometimes his boundless kindness worries Minho to his core, makes him downright terrified if Chan is allotting enough time for  _ himself.  _ But Chan isn't Chan if he isn't fretting over one of his friends on a night out, or making sure their freezer is stocked, or being a shoulder to cry on during one of the endless university hardships to rear its ugly head. 

As an only child, Minho thinks of him as an older brother of sorts. If your older brother also happens to play the role of your second mother figure and constantly nags you to  _ “eat your fruits and veggies” _ despite him ingesting solely shots of loaded espresso, but that's just details. 

“I want cotton candy!” Cried Felix, another Austrialian native who somehow ended up at their university with them. Felix is happiness personified, as if a sun laden spring day became sentient. He's only not wearing a blinding smile when he's sleeping, and even then a diminutive grin upturns his even features. 

He's a dance major like Minho, but whereas Minho double majors in mammalogy, Felix minors in creative writing; his specialty being poems, more often than not dedicated to eros, or falling hopelessly in love, or something equally romantic in between. One doesn't need to scrutinize each line to decipher who Felix's sentimental poetry is truly about, but the lines of beautifully written stanza that make up Changbin's phone wallpaper might be a  _ slight _ give away. 

Felix's button nose is splattered in a constellation of freckles, his warm eyes the same shade as rich milk chocolate, and unlike Chan's unruly bleach blonde mop, Felix's dirty blonde locks are perfectly parted to frame his handsome face. Felix believes staunchly in the simpler things in life; fate, destiny, and making wishes at 11:11. Despite Minho himself being a tad more skeptical, he also likes to believe their friendship is kismet, with how they were brought together at just the right time and in just the right place. 

“I'm down for some diabetes on a stick, but I wanna do some rides.” Grumbled Changbin, through the thick pout jutting onto his lips. Changbin looks like a  _ My Chemical Romance _ reject 24/7, 365; constantly dressed head to toe in spotless black, which only added to his more than intimidating appearance. Even right now in the height of sticky, humid summer, Changbin is donning a thick black hoodie and equally onyx ripped jeans. However, once you get to know him, the adolescent psychology major is more of an oversized emo teddy bear than anything truly threatening. Despite his stone-like facade, Changbin is truly made of soft giggles, unwanted blushes, and the occasional crying session during his favorite movie: Toy Story 3.

Although Minho has to admit, he wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of Changbin's impressive biceps, courtesy of his minor in physical education. But if Changbin is going to be punching  _ anything _ , it'll probably be a stray bug that dares buzz a tad too close to his precious boyfriend; Felix. 

That very sentiment is on full display when Minho glances down to Changbin’s hand, and saw it gently intertwined with the younger blonde Australian. The two have been dating—read,  _ inseparable— _ for the last year and a half. Minho loves seeing the goofy, lopsided grins Felix easily draws from the otherwise reserved Changbin; how his eyes light up with sparks of pure love as he gazes at the exuberant dance major with tangible affection. 

“Ok, so let's get some cotton candy,  _ then  _ rides!” Chan eagerly exclaimed, lightly bouncing in place and forcing his head of curly bleach blonde locks to shimmy and shake with him. Minho couldn't help but smile at the clear elation radiating off of Chan. The elder is more often in a state of haggard exhaustion than anything else, so to see genuine joy glittering in his eyes warmed Minho's heart. 

With a small chorus of “_Yeah!” _and “_Let's_ _go!”, _the boys made a beeline to the pastel cotton candy stand, glowing with ethereal light from the pink and lilac bulbs nestled around the sign for the sugary treat. 

Minho's heart pounded with happiness, with all encompassing warmth. Being a dance major along with Felix, he doesn't get much time to just... _ be.  _ To relax, and meander without the constant edge of choreography deadlines hanging over his head. 

He's content. He's happy.

His vision caught the slowly churning neon lights of the large Ferris wheel; the centerpiece of the small carnival. Minho's heart momentarily sped up at the sight of the rickety little baskets going about their mile-high journey around the wheel. Just hearing the distant, rusty  _ squeak  _ of the scraping metal is enough to make his skin crawl. 

But he pushed the unconscious reaction of his most intrinsic fear from his mind; he won't let his deep-seated hatred of heights bother him tonight. 

It's not like he'll be  _ going  _ on said Ferris wheel, or anything. 

Right? 

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

The peachy tuft of cotton candy left a cloying, overly saccharine coating on Minho's tongue. He discarded his paper cone in the trash, before returning to settle back with the others at one of the myriad of picnic tables strewn about the carnival grounds.

“Alright boys, what's next?” Minho asked with an expectant smile, his dark eyes scanning the sugar-coated lips of his other friends. 

He tried to ignore the pink, sticky kiss mark left on Changbin's cheek; a gift courtesy of Felix, who is still neck deep in his cloud like treat. 

“Ferris wheel? I  _ really  _ wanna go.” It's Chan, the blonde temporarily halting his munching on the cotton candy to speak. Minho can’t help taking note of the striking resemblance between Chan’s cotton candy, and his own curly locks; with their similarities in color and texture, Chan basically looks like someone dropped their own stick of the sugary confection right on his head. Minho idly wonders if Chan’s hair would even smell akin to the overly sweet dessert, but with an airy giggle he realized Chan’s cottony tresses probably smell more like acrid bleach and the leftover bitterness of coffee grounds. He's sure the newest addition to their picnic table can attest to that more than anyone; while they were eating Chan's boyfriend Woojin met up with them, and the older boy is now lovingly pressed against Chan's side with an endeared smile gracing his lips. 

Minho has only met Woojin a handful of times, as he goes to another university for his major in early childhood education. He likes the eldest boy quite a bit however, and relishes his time with Woojin despite their meetings being few and far between. Woojin has an aura of grace and maturity about him that’s a refreshing shift from the child-like din that is Chan and Felix, and the understated refinement of Changbin. According to Chan his boyfriend wants to become a preschool teacher, which Minho can't help but think is an almost scarily perfect fit; given Woojin's patient, caring, and comforting personality. 

“I wanna do the Ferris wheel too! It's so romantic.” Felix cooed, pressing an obnoxiously loud smooch against the already sugar-stained skin of Changbin's cheek. Changbin squirmed in response to the sloppy kiss, yet the rosy hue now coloring his full cheeks shows there is no real malice behind his scowl of mock-disgust. Minho rolled his eyes. His  _ very _ much single eyes. Sometimes being the only member of your friend group without a significant other poses its own special... _ challenges _ . Having to endure Felix’s barrage of unabashed PDA is one of those little trials. 

“You guys go ahead. There's no  _ way  _ you're gonna get me on that death trap.” Minho observed with a chuckle, a smirk coming to his lips at the outraged reactions from his friends.

“You can't expect us to go without you! That would make us terrible friends.” Changbin whined, pouting in tandem with a now very distraught looking Felix. 

“Guys I’m like,  _ terrified  _ of heights, remember? That wheel of death only allows two per cart anyways, so don't worry about little old me.” Minho coolly placated his friends with a casual flick of the wrist. 

You  _ literally  _ could not pay Minho enough money to get on that vibrant, multicolor living nightmare. 

Luckily, his friends reluctantly agreed, grumbling their acceptance through their pursed lips.  _ That wasn’t so hard,  _ Minho gratefully thought to himself. He fully expected to go on an entire tirade about how his friends need not worry about leaving him out of their trip on that circular spawn of Satan. 

They were about to migrate to a different corner of the carnival, when Minho's idle gaze landed on  _ him.  _

Him, being what must be the most gorgeous human being Minho has ever laid eyes on. Is he even a human being? Minho doubts it, nobody of this earth is allowed to be  _ that  _ pretty. 

He looks young, undoubtedly a few years younger than Minho. His hair is a rich, sophisticated shade of burgundy, which elegantly fell over his forehead. His cheeks are full, and adorably rounded, like they were  _ begging  _ to be pinched. His brown eyes are equally large and doe-like, despite the boy having an overtly squirrel-esque appearance. 

Mystery Adonis is wearing a plain black muscle tee, with an auburn flannel hanging sloppily on his petite frame; exposing his collarbone and delicate shoulder. 

Minho gulped, feeling his cheeks start to flush with fevered heat as his dazed stare continued to trail the beautiful stranger. 

He has two other boys in tow with him: one with a head of shiny blonde tresses and an almost scarily fox-like face, while the other has soft chocolate locks and looks strikingly like a little puppy. 

What's with this guy  _ and _ his entourage looking like adorable animals?! 

So _ that's _ it! They must be animals that somehow, someway, magically transformed into humans! That'll explain the squirrel-like boy's inhuman beauty, alright. Not like squirrels are inherently gorgeous critters, but Minho won’t argue with the intricacies of his outlandish, magical justification of the boy’s radiance. 

Ok, so  _ maybe  _ Minho is a  _ little _ off with that explanation. Just a tad. He vaguely realizes he needs to stop watching so many disney films; just cause Cinderella's fairy godmother can do it,  _ doesn't mean it can happen in real life, Minho.  _

“Minho?” He heard someone call his name. Chan, possibly? He's not sure, over the din of his heart pounding like thunderclaps in his ears. 

“Minho!” Yup, that's Chan alright. And he bets the hands gently shaking him out of his stupor belong to Chan as well. 

The beautiful boy and his human-version-of-adorable-forest-creature friends pivoted, effectively ducking out of Minho's line of vision. He felt a small pang in his heart, subconsciously coming down from his mystery boy-induced trance.

“O-oh, sorry. Just got a little…distracted.” Minho mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck as he shrunk under the knowing glances thrown at him. He can only pray the colorful lights illuminating the carnival are enough to disguise his heated ruby flush from his friends. 

Chan stared at him, a mischievous glint in his eyes as a smirk pulled onto his lips. “Whatever you say, Minho.” is all he chose to say, much to Minho's own relief. 

And with that they left the picnic table that had become their makeshift dining room, and started to lazily stroll over to the arcade. 

Minho kept his eyes peeled, flitting about for any sign of the beautiful boy that he lost in the bowels of the carnival.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Minho isn't sure how he managed to pull it off, but Changbin  _ somehow  _ won Felix a plush teddy bear from the shooting gallery. Changbin can barely  _ walk  _ more than a few steps without tripping over his own feet, so how his hand-eye coordination suddenly activated tonight is beyond Minho. 

Although, if the  _ slightly  _ terrified look in the eyes of the teenage attendant at the shooting gallery booth meant anything, Minho thinks it's safe to say Changbin's intimidating appearance won Felix the bear, more than true skill. 

Felix cuddled the teddy to his chest like a priceless family heirloom, snuggling its glassy-eyed, perpetually smiling face flush against his chest as the group finally stopped before their final destination; the dreaded Ferris wheel. 

Minho decided the least he can do is wait with his friends on the relatively short line, before the respective couples pile into their two-seater carts and Minho temporarily bids them farewell. 

But the pairs of lovers are entranced in their own worlds, leaving Minho feeling only  _ slightly  _ out of place. He expected this, of course, being the only single friend in a group consisting of only couples. So he steeled himself, counting the number of carnival goers ahead of them like one would count sheep before bed. 

12.

There's only 12 people standing between Minho feeling like an awkward 5th wheel, and him breaking off the godforsaken line to go watch cat videos from the safety of an earth-bound picnic table. 

He tried to busy himself as best as he could; by absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, texting his fellow dance major buddy (a bubbly, overexcited guy named Hyunjin) and even staring up at the magenta clouds in the sky to attempt to assign an image to the amorphous shapes languidly floating above their heads. 

But then, his ears pricked up at an addition of two unknown voices joining the line behind him. 

“You sure you don't wanna go with me, Jeongin? There needs to be two people per cart!” Minho picked up a whine from directly behind him, and a small smile pulled at his lips.  _ This Jeongin guy seems pretty smart,  _ he thought to himself, trying not to  _ totally  _ listen in on the conversation going on mere inches from the back of his head.

“I'm  _ sorry,  _ ‘Sungie! I promised Seungmin I would do the mirror maze with him, and I don't have enough time for both.” Another boy, presumably Jeongin, respond with an equally whining lilt to his voice. 

“Why don't you ask someone to go with you? I'll see you later!” Jeongin quickly suggested, before seemingly taking his abrupt leave from his friend. 

Minho heard a long, drawn out sigh come from behind him, along with something along the lines of  _ “mirror maze with Seungmin?! We have mirrors at our apartment!”  _ angrily grumbled under the stranger’s breath. 

A tiny pang of sympathy reverberated behind Minho's ribs; he can't help but feel bad for the poor kid, after being abandoned by one of his friends. 

Chan however, being ever group-focused, suddenly pulled a clearly alienated Minho in to join their idle conversation. He quickly got lost in talk with his friends soon after, and the thoughts of the dejected boy behind him all but left his mind. 

Until, he felt a small tap on his shoulder.

Minho whipped around at the gentle touch, only for his breath to instantly freeze in his throat at the sight before him. His eyes threatened to pop right out of his head, his jaw is on the cusp of plummeting right through the dirt beneath their feet. 

Because staring at him with a sheepish, almost  _ embarrassed  _ glimmer in his large eyes, is  _ him.  _ The mysterious, incomparably gorgeous boy from before. 

He’s  _ looking  _ at Minho. He  _ touched  _ Minho. The man of Minho's fucking  _ dreams  _ looks like  _ he's  _ choking on his words, when Minho is the one who should be a spluttering mess. 

“U-um hi. Sorry to bother you, but would you mind going on the Ferris wheel with me? My stupid roommate bailed on me, and I really wanted to go, so…” The boy stammered, averting his shimmering gaze to something he deemed more important: his own pair of garish, mustard yellow converse, idly kicking at some of the gravel smattering the dirt. 

Minho, however, felt like he just got electrocuted. Like he stuck his hand in a socket, like he stood out in the rain with a lightning rod. 

_ He wants to go on the Ferris wheel with Minho.  _

This must be a dream, right? There's no  _ way  _ Minho is truly conscious right now. He surreptitiously pinched his arm; it stung. He didn't wake up. He’s still stood frozen, gaping dumbly at the boy before him. 

_ Oh. Right. I should probably answer,  _ Minho numbly thought to himself, forcing an audible swallow down his impossibly dry throat as he willed his jumbled thoughts back into some semblance of coherency. 

“S-sure.” Is all Minho could manage to choke out, punctuating his answer with another pitiful gulp. The boy’s features exploded with a blinding smile, and Minho feared the pure light that emanated from the grin would be enough to short circuit the entire power grid of the carnival. 

“Thank you so much! My name is Jisung, by the way.” 

_ Jisung.  _ That's a nice name. A good name. Minho wants to say that name every second, of every hour, of every day.

Mystery boy has a name. And that name is Jisung. 

And now Jisung is expectantly looking at him, doe eyes wide and bright enough to put the hoard of fireflies bumbling around them to shame. 

_ Why is he looking at me like that,  _ Minho dazedly thought to himself, racking his swirling brain for an explanation. Although, Minho's brain might as well be a load of laundry in the washing machine that is his skull, so it was only after a few seconds of painfully awkward silence that he thought to himself:  _ Oh right. My name. _

“M-my name Minho. My name  _ is _ Minho.” He sputtered, as cool, calm and collected as ever. Nice job, Minho. 

Jisung took his only slightly off putting introduction in stride, meeting him with yet another impossibly luminant grin. Minho belatedly realized, through the fog blanketing his mind, that Jisung's lips form an endearing heart shape when he smiles. It's cute. Did Minho mention Jisung is very,  _ very  _ cute? 

It looked like Jisung was about to say something else, when an abrupt voice calling  _ “Next!”  _ startled the two out of their half-awkward, half-endearing moment. It’s more than clear to see which half Minho belongs to. 

Oh. Those 12 people are gone. Minho's  _ friends  _ are gone, already safely buckled in their respective carts while Minho was too busy feeling his world crumbling with each of Jisung’s smiles. The teenage employee running the ride motioned for Minho and Jisung to step forward, a waiting empty basket boring through his soul.  _ Oh.  _

The reality of what he agreed to do  _ just  _ hit Minho square in the gut, and he felt his knees turn to jelly, felt his skin pickle with the chilled gnaw of goosebumps.

He's about to experience his worst fear with the possible future love of his life. Why can't things just be  _ simple.  _

Jisung cheered, as oblivious to Minho's terror as ever. He grabbed Minho's wrist, eagerly pulling the two up the metal steps before plopping down on the bench in the cart. Minho isn't sure if his heart feels like it's about to explode because of fear, or because of Jisung's warm grip on his wrist.

Actually, it's probably a mixture of both.  _ Definitely  _ a mixture of both. 

The haggard teen worker made a quick inspection of their basket, and with a final metal  _ smack  _ of their little door closing, they were off. The Ferris wheel jerked to life with a sickening rusty squeak, and Minho couldn't stop the terrified shriek that immediately escaped his lips.

In his terror, he also didn't catch himself all but  _ jumping  _ into Jisung's waiting arms, the other boy instantly wrapping a protective hold around Minho's trembling form. 

“Woah, are you ok, Minho?” Jisung asked through a bout of breezy chuckles, before swallowing his giggles and chomping down on his bottom lip to stifle any more good natured laughter. 

_ He said my name,  _ Minho thought to himself through the bramble of fear enveloping his racing mind. He vaguely took notice that he doesn't think his name has ever sounded so  _ sweet  _ leaving another person's lips. His name sounded like it was made of pure golden honey, like it was coated in powdered sugar and drenched in fresh cream. 

He wants nothing more than for Jisung to say it again.

“U-uh, yeah I-I'm fine. Just not a huge fan of heights is all.” Minho muttered, his frantic gaze flitting about his now slowly moving surroundings. 

The movement of the wheel isn't  _ awful,  _ but with each periodic stop their ascending cart grinds to a halt, forcing it to swing from the rafters like a flying rocking horse. He can deal with it, he supposes. Then his gaze landed on Jisung; or should he say, how  _ close  _ Jisung is to him.

Minho felt electricity dance on his flesh at the sight of Jisung mere inches from him, his haze of fear preventing him from even realizing he is still cradled in Jisung's comforting arms.

“Why didn't you say so?! I never would have asked you to go if you told me  _ that!”  _ Jisung cried, screwing his eyes shut in what can only be described as self-directed anger. 

_ Because I think I have the biggest crush I've ever had in my life on you! And I didn't want to disappoint you while simultaneously ruining my chances with you! Also I might be a masochist. That's why.  _ Minho dazedly thought to himself, pushing a heavy gulp down his throat as he unconsciously nuzzled into Jisung's embrace.

“I don't know, you said you really wanted to go so I didn't wanna...be a meanie.” Nice one Minho, very smooth. Nothing sexier than someone in their twenties casually peppering “ _ meanie”  _ into their sentences. Minho always had a certain  _ way _ with words, after all.

Jisung just let some hearty, full laughter fall from his heart shaped smile. He seems to do that a lot; laugh, rather than talk. Minho is starting to realize he wants that laughter to be the soundtrack to his life. 

“Well, don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re safe.” Jisung spoke softly, reassuringly. He marginally tightened his soothing hold around Minho’s waist, his thumb absentmindedly stroking against his taut muscles. 

It’s not raining, but Minho is sure he just heard roaring thunder. Oh, wait. That’s just his fervent heart beat screaming in ringing ears. 

The Ferris wheel continued to meander on its precarious, squeaking trip, and Minho thinks he's  _ actually  _ starting to relax. It’s all thanks to Jisung’s heartening presence, of course. Although, if by “relax” you count not feeling like you're constantly on the cusp of retching, then yes, he's relaxed. 

“So Minho, are you in university?” Jisung asked, about halfway through their ride. Small talk. Minho could use some small talk right now, could use some prompts to dissolve his nervous energy into a stream of consciousness.

“Y-yeah, I’m a third year. Dance and mammalogy double major. I like hip hop and ballet, but also comparative anatomy and the uterine structure of marsupials.” He forced past the hundred pound blockage in his throat. _Don't make it weird, idiot! Or at least not weirder than it already has been! _Minho all but shrieked inside his head, leaving a smack against his subsconscious. But it looks like that ship has already sailed, as Minho's _totally_ romance-oriented brain decided on mentioning his apparent adoration of _kangaroo uteruses _of all things! 

_ Keep up the good work, Minho,  _ he thought with a shuddering, long suffering sigh. 

Jisung's toned arm is still wrapped around his shoulder, snaking down to gently lay on his waist. Minho is trying desperately not to think about that right now, though. Or anything, really. He's trying to keep his mind in as much of a makeshift zen-like state one can achieve  _ while  _ pressed against your crush  _ and _ also dangling hundreds of feet above the ground in a flimsy metal basket that seems like it will tear from its rusty hinges at any given second. 

“That's so cool! I'm a linguistics major. I'm a slut for those sweet, sweet word origins.” Jisung happily announced, puffing out his chest in a display of over exaggerated pride. Minho smiled. Like a real, genuine smile; free from fear, free from apprehension. 

They continued to talk in mellow comfort as the Ferris wheel languidly turned in its strained, groaning ride. They talked about their friend groups, with Jisung explaining the nuances of living with his two hyperactive roomates Jeongin and Seungmin, while Minho went into detail about his respective group of buddies. Minho was even mindful enough to bring up his three beloved, spoiled cats waiting for him at his apartment. They'd be proud of him right now, he's sure. Or they'd mewl for some catnip and loving scratches, but there's got to be some pride  _ somewhere  _ deep in their feline craniums. He’ll just purposefully ignore his multitude of mammalogy lectures on the subtleties of cat behavior and body language that would say otherwise. 

Amicable silence drenched them soon after, the only sound being the occasional shriek of a delighted child, mingling with the squeaking hinges of the ride’s infrastructure. Until Jisung broke that silence, however. 

“Are you dating anyone?” Jisung asked with the same notes of nonchalant casualness, contrasting with the now unmistakable glimmer of apprehension shimmering in his dark eyes; his chestnut irises trained on the corrugated metal floor of their booth. 

“Huh? O-oh, no. I  _ really _ wish I had a boyfriend, but—no, I’m single.” Minho felt himself on the precipice of prattling on about that very sentiment, so he halted his incoming stream of consciousness before it could leave his lips. 

Jisung seemed to marginally brighten at Minho's admission, regaining the confident spark in eyes as he straightened his shoulders. 

“It seems we’re two single pringles, huh. I don't have a boyfriend either.” Jisung mused, a knowing, borderline mischievous flame now ignited in his eyes as he glanced at Minho though his full lashes. 

Minho didn't even fully acknowledge the weight of the relieved sigh that fell from his lips at Jisung's revelation.  _ Not only is Jisung single, but he likes guys too!  _ Thank  _ god _ , it seems the universe isn't totally out to get Minho tonight. 

In his Jisung-induced stupor, Minho didn't seem to realize the gravity of just how badly this situation could have gone against his favor. 

Casually forgetting straight people exist; little Minho things. 

“If you think about it, this is kinda like a weird, unexpected blind date. Right?” Jisung observed with an easy chuckle.

_ Oh fuck. He just used the D word,  _ Minho’s reeling brain all but screamed at him, his already speeding heart plummeting to his toes in response.

“Y-yeah!” Is all Minho managed to choke out, punctuated by a string of only slightly manic, stilted laughter. 

Apparently, he’s on a date with Jisung right now. Blame it on his short-circuiting brain, but Minho probably never would have connected those dots himself. 

They were thrust into comfortable, leisurely silence once again. It’s peaceful, besides how Minho can still feel his heart pounding like a jackhammer between his ears. 

But then, they reached the top. Like  _ the  _ top, you can’t get any higher than this top. The entire carnival is unfurled below, like a twinkling neon galaxy. The moon seemed to hang directly over their heads, winking at them with the pillars of silver light it cast upon the two boys. The stars look so  _ close _ , Minho wanted nothing more than to reach up and try to pluck one from its home in the cosmos. 

But the beauty stretched before their eyes instantly morphed into a waking nightmare; their cart screeched to a halt, swaying back and forth in the the unencumbered night air. Minho is about, 2, maybe 3 seconds away from fainting. 

Or dying. Or fainting, then dying while he’s passed out. 

“O-oh  _ fuck!  _ Oh my god were gonna fucking die up here oh fuck I can’t die I’m too young I have three cats at home—” Minho screeched, and then his horrified shrieks melted into choked rambles, tumbling from his lips before getting the green light from his reeling brain. 

His vision started to sway, in time with their gently rocking basket. He feels so hot, but his fever is chased down by icy chills, racking his body as if he took a trip to Antarctica in merely a pair of swim trunks. He felt his stomach painfully clench, churning with sickening venom as his panic stricken eyes hopelessly darted about.

He thinks he hears Jisung trying to comfort him, but he can barely make anything out over the droning of his racing heart in his chest. He accidentally looked down, only to be greeted by a sheer vertical drop down to the ground where they once stood. He feels horribly dizzy, and the sensation of Jisung tightening his protective grasp on his waist isn’t helping. 

Oh. Jisung is holding him tighter. In fact, he’s all but pressing Minho flush against his side. Minho barely picked up the steady, even beating of Jisung’s heart flowing into his own chest, mingling with the frantic pounds of his panicked heart. 

“Minho, it’s ok, I’m here—” Jisung tried to placate a quivering Minho, but his gentle words were to no avail. 

“S-so high, Jisung we’re gonna fucking  _ die _ up here.” Minho forced past the lead ball in his throat, his hands white knuckle gripping the denim of Jisung’s ripped jeans as their swinging basket mellowed to a languid sway. Jisung looked at him wordlessly, an implacable glint now taking up residence in his eyes. 

Minho vaguely took notice of Jisung's dewy gaze trained solely on his own lips, but he was too busy mentally filling out his will to fully realize. Is it bad he's leaving the majority of his life savings to his oldest cat? 

It's probably not the best. He'll leave the most to Chan,  _ then _ the rest to his cats. Jisung’s stare is still focused on Minho's pink, shining lips, and you can almost  _ see  _ the gears turning in his head as he contemplated what he was about to say to the agitated boy next. 

“Can I kiss you?” Jisung abruptly asked, turning to look directly in Minho’s own glassy eyes. There are no quivering nerves behind the simple question; his voice is unwavering, and assured. 

“Yes. Wait  _ what—”  _ Minho mindlessly mumbled, his coherency long since flying the proverbial coop. 

Jisung didn’t say kiss, right? Minho  _ must _ have misheard him, in his terrified stupor. He probably said _ diss _ . Can I  _ diss  _ you, right? That makes sense...right? Jisung seems like a very polite person, it would make sense for him to ask permission before wanting to insult Minho; more than warranted by his less than normal behavior throughout the evening. 

But Minho didn’t even have time to ponder whether his jumbled mind is playing tricks on him, because before his brain could catch up he felt a pair of impossibly soft lips crash against his. His eyes burst open in his head, before unconsciously fluttering shut as he let himself melt into the kiss.

Looks like he didn't mishear him, huh. 

Jisung's lips taste like coconut lip balm, blended with an enticing mixture of cinnamon and clove. His kisses taste like the peak of a summer afternoon; tender and overtly sweet. Yet they also have the unruly edge of the wild flowers that spring up between the cracks of the pavement; purposeful, and confident. 

Jisung pulled away after what felt like a mere nanosecond of contact, much to Minho’s dismay. He already missed the feeling of Jisung’s silken, glossed lips pressed against his. 

Oh god—wait. Did Jisung just kiss him?! Ok, the pinch test from before  _ obviously _ wasn’t hard enough, because there’s no way in  _ Hell _ Minho isn’t dreaming right now. 

“Feel better?” Jisung probed, his voice suddenly husky and unfathomably deep. Minho felt shivers run down the expanse of his spine. 

Minho just nodded, silently. All his words are currently frozen in his throat, along with his breath, and well, his... _ sanity _ .

An enamoured smile flickered onto Jisung’s lips, as he leaned forward to softly nuzzle his forehead against Minho’s. He hummed in response, a sweet, melodic sound that could put the flocks of summer song birds to shame. 

“I like you, Minho.” Jisung stated, matter-a-factly. His voice is brimming with surety, and certainty. 

Minho swears he just felt his heart shoot right through his chest, shattering his ribs to splinters in the process. 

“Oh my god—I have to be dead right now, there's no _ way _ I'm alive. So what the Hell, I like you too, Jisung. I  _ really  _ like you, I like you so  _ much _ .” Minho began his patented rambling, his brain officially reduced to sloshing mush in his reverberating skull. Unsurprisingly, Jisung responded with an incomparably gorgeous smile, the grin seeming to radiate its own light in the velvety darkness. 

But Minho means every word; he thinks Jisung is the bee’s knees. The cat’s pajamas. The...some other odd animalistic expression he can't think of right now because  _ holy shit, Jisung said he likes him. _

He considered tweaking his flesh once again to see if he is somehow ensnared in an incredibly vivid fever dream, but Minho instead made the conscious decision that if he  _ is  _ in a dream right now, he  _ definitely  _ doesn't want to wake up. 

“We still have a bit more time till our ride is over. How about I kiss you until we make it back safely, ok?” Jisung all but growled, his chipper smile morphing into a confident smirk as he draped a strong arm around Minho’s back to steady him. Jisung’s eyes are dark, but still glossed with the same candy coating of endeared affection from earlier.

_ Now  _ Minho took it upon himself to pinch the skin of his upper forearm, for the umpteenth time that evening. It hurt, a dull ache in his flesh. He didn’t wake up. 

It’s finally starting to dawn on Minho that he  _ might _ actually be fully awake right now. 

“T-that would be...very nice. And good. Can we um...do that now. Please.” Minho stammered, babbling like a drunkard into the velveteen night air. 

In true Jisung fashion, he let a stream of giggles fall from his lips. His laughter is so sweet, the sugary spindles of cotton candy can only aspire to be so dulcet. 

Minho tried to commit the airy chuckles to memory, but his brain is a little preoccupied with turning to sloshing pulp in his skull.

Jisung darted forward to cup Minho’s cheeks in his impossibly warm hands, before their lips met once again. Their idly swinging basket jolted to life with movement as the Ferris wheel restarted its journey, but Minho didn't care. In fact, he didn't even notice the usually vertigo-inducing arc of their cart making its final descent over the top of the wheel, as it slowly meandered towards the earth. 

Minho eagerly kissed back this time, valiantly trying to jumpstart his brain; to ground himself in Jisung’s comforting embrace, to remember the feeling of his satiny lips moving gracefully against his. 

Their kisses became increasingly sloppy, and messy. Jisung brought a hand from where it was softly caressing Minho’s cheek up to his head of caramel tresses, burying his fingers to card through the silken strands. 

They continued to kiss under the blanket of uncluttered constellations above their heads, blissfully unaware that their cart had screeched to a halt at the ride’s exit.

“ _ Excuse _ me.” A more than disgruntled and underpaid employed groused, effectively startling the pair from their reverie. A deep, hot pink blush painted onto Minho’s cheeks, worrying his bottom lip in his teeth as he quickly threw a slurred apology at the poor worker. He grasped Jisung’s wrist in his hand, all but dragging the boy behind him as they left the imposing Ferris wheel in the dust. Minho shouldn’t have been surprised by the symphony of breezy giggled Jisung left in their wake. 

Minho has never been so happy to be back on solid ground, despite having to forcefully steady his wobbling legs from falling out from under him. Although, for his worst fear, that Ferris wheel ride wasn’t half bad. Of course, that is only thanks to a certain squirrel-like boy who is now looking near surgically attached to Minho’s side. 

“Minho, what—who...is your friend?” Minho jumped at the sudden mention of his name, whipping around to see a very startled Chan and Woojin stood awkwardly before them. Chan’s wide eyes gave Minho a once over; his bruised lips, flushed cheeks and disheveled hair a clear indication of his... _ activities _ during the ride. Then Chan’s gaze landed on Minho’s and Jisung’s hands. They’re clasped together, fingers perfectly knit like they were made for each other. A small, knowing gasp escaped Chan’s lips, before all encompassing warmth bloomed in his chest.

“Oh, are these some of your friends you were telling me about?” Jisung excitedly exclaimed, a huge grin bursting onto his lips as he bounced in place. “Hi! I’m Jisung, me and Minho went on the Ferris wheel together.” 

“ _ You _ got  _ Minho _ to go on the Ferris—” Woojin started to screech in incredulity, before Chan unceremoniously slapped a hand over his boyfriend’s lips. Chan plastered a smile onto his plump lips, ignoring the wet smacking of Woojin’s mouth still muffling words beneath his palm. 

“That’s great! I hope you both had fun!” Chan happily declared, “we won’t bother you two any longer, so we’re gonna go get some more cotton candy. You know where to meet us later.” He continued, throwing Minho a wicked wink before pulling a still shocked Woojin away. 

“You kids have fun!” Chan joyfully called over his shoulder with finality, as the couple made their way towards the now familiar cotton candy stall.

Minho goodnaturedly shook his head of butterscotch locks, willing away the heated blush still tinging his cheeks; it still stayed firmly in place, despite his efforts. 

Minho belatedly realized his and Jisung’s hands are still intertwined. He should probably pull away. He doesn’t.

“So,” Jisung casually stated, lightly swinging his and Minho’s hands together. “Wanna go on the Ferris wheel again? Just for old times sake.” He spoke through a devilish smirk, and Minho couldn’t help but gulp at the telling gesture. 

Minho never expected to go on that accursed Hell wheel  _ once _ . And now Jisung wants him to go on  _ twice _ ?! 

Minho definitely knows he not dreaming, because he immediately says yes. 

Jisung skipped forward to leave a chaste peck on Minho’s nose in response. 

“Good. But promise me less screaming and more kissing this time, ok?” Jisung teased, expertly dodging the small smack Minho tried to leave against his shoulder. Minho grumbled, his lips jutting in a petulant pout as the two walked the now familiar, worn path to the Ferris wheel; the line is now empty, save the same annoyed teenage worker from before. 

_ Less screaming, and more kissing?  _ Minho thought to himself with a chuckle. He thinks he can handle that. 

“I promise.” He whispered to Jisung, and Jisung alone. 

Minho has a sinking feeling he’ll be  _ quite _ the Ferris wheel fan at the end of the night.

His fear of heights be damned. 

  
  



End file.
